


An Acquired Sense

by Argyle



Category: Historical RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-02-20
Updated: 2004-02-20
Packaged: 2019-10-25 17:20:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17729483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Argyle/pseuds/Argyle
Summary: WilloughbyByron to the rescue!





	An Acquired Sense

“Will you be joining us, doctor?” Mary called with a quick glance over her shoulder, her dark eyes glinting kindly. She smiled against the rain, dashing her hand across her forehead and pushing the brown tresses of her hair haphazardly to her temples.

“Oh, of course,” John Polidori shivered, pulling his jacket close around him. He stood under a low-hanging bow of a great tree, attempting to stay dry of the rain that now pounded against the surface of the lake, the sky echoing its gray pallor within the sigh of its clouds. The party, which consisted of himself, Lord Byron, Percy Shelley, Mary, and Byron’s erstwhile mistress Claire Clairmont, had been out in the small skiff over lunch. As they had discussed politics and primroses enthusiastically over strawberries and wine, the rain had caught them all quite by surprise and they were forced to disembark again to the shore of Lake Geneva. Polidori watched as Byron secured the last of the skiff’s knots into place on the dock.

“My dear doctor,” Byron grinned as he approached, placing a hand on Polidori’s shoulder. “Not cold, are we?”

Polidori clenched his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. “Certainly not,” he shook his head, a smirk passing across his lips.

“I had thought as much,” he laughed, seeing the other fold his arms close to his chest. “Perhaps, though... perhaps the fact that you are indeed immune to the elements would be clearer to the others if you were more explicit in showing it as such.”

Polidori laughed shortly. “What do you propose?”

Byron leaned closer to him, raising a hand and making a lofty gesture in the direction of Mary. “The dear ladies, I think, would be impressed with a show of feat on your part. Heroics, you know.”

“Oh?” Polidori met his gaze, his brow furrowing.

“Nothing less than bounding from yonder stone wall and escorting Miss Mary across this rain-slicked path to the villa would suffice,” he laughed good-naturedly, a glint catching from behind his lashes, and with a press against Polidori’s shoulder, he began walking toward the others.

Polidori raked a shaky hand through the thick curls of his hair, blinking back the rain as it collected against his cheeks. He looked to the crumbling form of the wall, which stood not far from the dock. Grass swayed against the stones of its base where water, flowing from the incline, collected in a muddy pool. The wall itself was no more than three and a half feet high, though the angle of the embankment made it seem a bit more daunting. Polidori swallowed and walked soundly before the wall, his boots trapping mud against their soles, and looked once more to the others, who stood conversing still, seemingly oblivious to the shower as it soaked through the folds of their clothes.

With a deep breath, the doctor heaved himself into a crouching position atop the wall. He felt the rocks wobble against his stress, protesting their movement from long-standing positions, but with a hand firmly planted before him, he was able to rise up. He stood there for a moment, the rain driving against his back, and he saw Shelley nodding in his direction, grinning broadly. Byron then turned, shaking his head and motioning for Polidori to come down. The doctor smiled to himself and gave a sweeping bow to the party, leaning forward with an awkward movement. His arms then flung outward as he lost his footing on the loose mortaring of the wall and, sliding forward, fell with his full weight against his ankle.

The impact knocked the wind from his lungs and he shut his eyes tightly as a spark of pain circuited through his form. Crying out softly against the pounding of the rain, he felt the sodden grasp of the ground underneath his shoulders and splotches of mud across his brow.

Byron quickly came over, his own footing unsteady against the wetness of the ground. “My word, doctor,” he grimaced, stooping close to Polidori with a hand braced against the wall. “Why must you always be so damnably literal?”

Polidori stirred, a frown crossing his brow, at last opening his eyes once more. His gaze was met with Byron’s, whose features were stamped with what seemed to be genuine concern. Gone was his skilled look of graceful nonchalance, the curled lip which hid his silver tongue. Rain streaked into his dark lashes and he rubbed the back of his hand against them, his eyes seeming to gleam with a tungsten hue that matched the clouds overhead. Polidori’s stomach clenched.

“Is it broken?” Byron reached a hand under Polidori’s back, lifting him from the ground slightly.

“I don’t think so,” Polidori breathed, his voice cracking. “I am alright -- I will manage myself.”

Byron tilted his head. “You’re sure?”

“As you are so fond of reminding me, I am the doctor here.” Polidori flinched as he braced his good foot to the ground and, taking Byron’s outstretched hand, he stood. Chancing a glance to the others over his shoulder, he shuddered, seeing the grim humor flashing across their faces, and settled his gaze toward the misty reaches of the lake. He nodded as he straightened the lace that was set as his collar and took an uneven step ahead. His leg then made its opinion on the matter very clear by twisting under his weight, sending him falling forward once more. Polidori found himself caught in Byron’s arms with his face pointed upwards into the poet’s own.

“You were saying?” Byron chuckled, shifting his weight against the damp earth. “Here, reach around my back.” He guided Polidori’s arm to the side of his shoulder, his hand spreading smoothly against the cloth of his jacket. With a heave of his chest, he then lifted the doctor’s legs fully from the ground, winding his forearm through the crook beneath his knees.

“No, no, no!” Polidori gasped, his voice shaking with what was nearly panic. “This is most unnecessary, I assure you.”

“Do not worry, doctor, it is nothing. You needn’t feel as though you’re a burden -- not at this particular moment, at least.”

With this Polidori’s cheeks flushed violently and he closed his eyes, hearing Shelley speaking from behind. He swallowed, trying to focus his thoughts enough to understand what was being said.

“Yes, I’ll meet you in an hour or so, Percy,” Byron answered with a nod of his head. He then began stepping forward, his pace slow against the weight of the doctor and the wavering balance of his own bad foot. Neither spoke as they made progress toward the villa, though when they reached the entrance and Fletcher swung the large door open, Byron’s breathing had become labored. “Thank you,” he managed, laughing quietly at the startled expression on his valet’s face. “Do you think you could have some tea prepared?”

“Certainly, my Lord,” Fletcher nodded, a bemused smile flashing across his face. Polidori simply scowled, biting his lip self-consciously. Byron carried him into the side drawing room and gently set him down onto the silk-covered settee. He grabbed up a few pillows from odd corners of the room and placed them behind Polidori’s back, allowing him to lean up. The doctor was quite in awe of the situation and still kept himself from speaking as Byron unbuttoned the material of his collar and lightly removed his jacket from around his shoulders.

“Do you think you’ve broken your foot?” Byron’s words were calm as they grazed over his lips. Polidori shook his head, meeting his gaze. He then glanced down towards his feet, shifting his right ankle against the side of the pillow and again yelping as a sliver of pain shot up his leg. Byron nodded and pulled an ornate wooden chair to the end of the sofa, sitting; with gentle hands he began unlacing the straps of Polidori’s high boots. As they were softly tugged off and set aside on the floor, the doctor sighed as some of the pressure that had been gnawing against his ankle was relieved.

Byron rose and walked out of the room with a nod to Polidori as though to indicate that he would soon return. A few minutes passed in silence and as the doctor began to wonder whether Byron had had a change of heart, the door swung open once more. Byron carried with him a pair of scissors and a roll of thin cloth.

“You’ll have to forgive me,” he said with a light chuckle. “I took the liberty of pilfering from your medical case.” Setting the scissors and gauze gently to the floor, he sat down again, looking to Polidori and raising his eyebrows dramatically. Byron then, with a soft but sweeping movement, pulled away Polidori’s stocking, exposing the swollen ankle beneath. “Yes, it is sprained,” he nodded, pointing toward the area that had already become black and blue. “This will have to be wrapped immediately.”

“Nonsense,” Polidori started. “How could you possibly know...” he trailed off as Byron cast him a hard stare, his lips suddenly curving into a frown. Polidori swallowed roughly and flinched as Byron leaned forward, though it was only to retrieve the objects by his feet. He set the scissors down in his lap and gently unraveled the cloth, winding it upwards and downwards against Polidori’s ankle. There was a delicacy to his touch, and also a certain expertise as he trimmed away the leftover gauze and tied the ends in a careful bow.

“Thank you, my Lord,” Polidori finally managed, his voice quivering.

Byron simply nodded, a slight smile passing over his lips once more, as though for a moment regretting past ill-treatments of the doctor. There was a quiet moment and the two were caught in each other’s gazes; only the sound of the clock ticking from the hallway and the tapering rain against the panes of the window could be heard. Fletcher soon brought in a silver tray of tea and small cakes, setting it to the side table.

“Thank you, Fletcher.” Byron set a cup and saucer aside, filling it gently, and passed it to Polidori. “I’m going to change,” Byron made a sweeping gesture toward his damp clothes. “I will check on you later this afternoon. Do try and get some rest, hmm?”

Polidori smiled, almost relishing in this reversal of roles. “Thank you,” he nodded.

Byron then stepped out, quietly shutting the door behind him. Polidori sipped at his tea, eventually setting it to the floor, and fell gently back into the cushions of the sofa. Soon, he had fallen asleep, his face gently lulled against the pillows.

As he awoke, it was early evening and the gentle rays of sun reached across the horizon, no longer troubled by the sigh of rain. He sat up, gently rotating his ankle and biting his lip as it pained him, and stood. Coming across the room with an awkward hobble, he then leaned against the table where a tray of fresh tea sat. Something else caught his eye, though; it was a letter, gently brushed with ink, tucked between the cups. He lifted it lightly, his eyes grazing over its form, and flicked it open with the tips of his fingers. A laugh rose up from his throat as he read:

_Doctor --_

Botched attempts at heroics aside...

I hope you are feeling better, though I must say -- the next time you have an itching inclination to fall into my arms, just ask. It is not so grave a thing as you might like to think.

Dine with me tonight and we will make amends.

B.

Setting the letter down again, the doctor glanced through the window, seeing Byron and Shelley standing together outside. Byron looked toward him, smiling as the enthusiasm of his conversation flashed across his features. Polidori arched a brow, crossing his arms before him in mock-resolution, though the sanguine hue of his cheeks betrayed him. As he prepared himself a cup of tea from the tray by his side with an eye still held to the window, a smile finally passed across his lips and his heart beat mightily within his chest.

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired largely by real events. Polidori did indeed try to “impress” Mary on a dare from Byron, subsequently suffering a bad twist of his ankle. Byron was stricken at the sight & over-compensated for his part in it by carrying Polidori inside to the sofa, even helping with the pillows. Perhaps he had read Sense & Sensibility beforehand.


End file.
